


Vertigo

by FrederickTheGreatsFineAss (FriedrichTheGreatsFineAss)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Amusement Parks, Denmark is an old man, Don't leak his nudes plz, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 16:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8674783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriedrichTheGreatsFineAss/pseuds/FrederickTheGreatsFineAss
Summary: Mikkel, famous Danish ambassador, has never, ever touched a legitimate rollercoaster. His Norwegian pal Sigurd decides to change that, which only requires a /little/ blackmail. When this leads to a major freak-out, Mikkel relies on a complete stranger to get through it, because Sigurd is an ass with no commitment.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Mikkel = Denmark  
> Sigurd = Norway  
> Arjen = Netherlands  
> Gilbert = Prussia

The harsh glare of the sun beat down on the blonde duo, unusual weather for the country of Denmark. This was the reason why the pair had set out to Tivoli, rather than spend another day trapped inside by the raining torrents -- good weather was rare, great weather was to be taken advantage of at all costs. 

 

And thus, Sigurd was dragging Mikkel down the main street of the amusement park, neatly-trimmed fingernails digging into the poor man’s Nephew t-shirt.

 

“I can’t believe it,” Sigurd fretted, dodging past a pair of shrieking toddlers. “You’ve lived in this pitiful country all your life, twenty feet from Tivoli. Denmark  _ invented _ amusement parks. How have you never stepped foot in one?”

 

Mikkel glanced at the passing candy-colored buildings, careful not to trample a dove hopping near his feet. “Sig, I refuse to ride on any human-made machine designed to give joy by simulating death.”

 

“The technology is perfectly safe, Mikkel, and it’s not like you haven’t faced death before!” Sigurd said, scowling.

 

“Dying is never pleasant, and I’d  _ much _ rather we go sailing or something, like we usually do!”

 

“It’s ‘cause you’re a pussy, isn’t it?” Sigurd asked.

 

“No, it’s not.” Mikkel shot back.

 

“‘S because you’re scared, you’re afraid of rollercoasters, ain’t ya?”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“Prove it,” Sigurd said, surveying the park until his eyes landed on… there! At the back of the park, just visible above the shimmering lake, the golden tower framed by blue arms.. “You know, Mikkel, one of your Danish rides was voted best in Europe recently.”

 

“Yeees, yes it was,” Mikkel said, narrowing his eyes. “Vertigo or whatever, right?” The one that Gilbert had gone on once, and wouldn’t stop blabbering on about how ‘totally awesome’ it was for weeks.

 

“That’s the one. Over there. Prove you’re not a pussy.” Sigurd nodded his head in the ride’s direction, releasing Mikkel’s arm to pull out his park map.

 

“U-uh, Sigurd, if you’re asking to prove I don’t  _ have  _ a pussy, I can- I can show you back at the room later.” He stammered, wiggling his eyebrows in a failingly suggestive manner that betrayed his fear. Mikkel have been a sprightly twenty-something youth, but he was still human, what if his heart gave out, he had puked on one of his American friend’s  _ kiddy  _ rides over at an Oklahoma county fair, for goodness sake.

 

“And for that, Dane,” Sigurd said, whacking Mikkel over the head with the map, “you’ll have to do it alone. Or else.”

 

“Or else?”

 

“Or else I’ll release your nudes to the Internet, and what a scandal -- an important government official sexting another man!”

 

“I’m not some soft old man,” Mikkel said, trying to push away from the idea. “I don’t trust the rides; I’m not just afraid of them.”

 

“Too late, Dane, you’re doing it. And don’t act like some paranoid anti-technology idiot, you seem to have adjusted to Snapchat  _ rather _ well, by the rate of nudes you send.”

 

Mikkel ran a hand through his hair. “Alright, ya bastard, I’ll do it. You owe me ice cream.”

 

Sigurd chuckled and nodded, regaining his falcon grip on Mikkel’s arm and starting the journey to the gates of hell.

  
  
  


“Are you alright?”

 

It didn’t take a detective to see that he most definitely was  _ not _ okay, but Mikkel wasn’t going to fault his seat-neighbor for their courtesy. 

 

Even from where he was almost doubled over the safety bar, he could see the man out of the corner of his eye, with hair the color of canned pineapple and eyes the color of avocado peel and a scarf that was most  _ certainly _ going to fly off when the ride catapulted them into the air.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Mikkel replied, straightening himself up and taking a deep breath. He was  _ not _ going to let some pissy ride do him over. He’d crushed armies of competitors in the domestic market and faced the might of international politics, there was no way a little mechanical jump-scare could cause him fear!

 

“If you really think so,” the man replied, and then the ride was moving. It started slow, nonthreatening, but Mikkel was so anxious that it took half a minute and a curious grunt before he realised the knee he was clutching was not his own.

  
  


Mikkel carefully extracted his hand, blushing, and mumbled an apology. And then the speed picked up and they were tossed into the sky. It was fine, it was all ok, he was ok, and then he could see the ground above him and it clicked that he was upside down and --

 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” He screamed, like a baby, louder than he ever had in his whole life. A hand interlocked with his and he ducked his head into the shoulder next to him, and a falling sensation wracked his body, and--

 

A brief lull as they swung by the ground again. 

 

“You’re ok,” assured a slightly accented voice, and they were off again, and he was  _ not ok _ .

 

Over and over, thrown up into the air just to be jolted back down to earth, fast enough that Mikkel could barely breathe around the screams clawing their way out of his throat, fast enough that the sky and the ground blended together and did it really matter which way was up when he felt as though he was going to  _ puke _ , when would this damning torture  _ end _ .

 

And then it did, and the ride stopped moving. All of the other passengers had gotten off, laughing and chatting like they hadn’t just been subjugated to direct opposition of the force of gravity, and Mikkel’s throat felt like it was closing up, and was he fucking  _ crying? _

 

A hand on his arm roused him from his disassociation. He was still clinging to the arm of the blond man with the strength of a baby monkey. 

 

“Sorry,” he choked out, “sorry.”

 

“Nothin’ to apologize for,” the man replied, lifting the safety bar over Mikkel’s head. “We need to get off the ride, ok? Unless you wanna give it another go.”

 

Mikkel whimpered, and he laughed. “M’name is Arjen. There’s a bench nearby. You’re alright, see?” He was pulled out of his seat, the Arjen man gripping both of his hands. Even at the feel of solid ground he wanted to vomit. But before his knees could buckle, two firm arms wrapped around him, holding him up. 

 

“C’mon,” Arjen ushered, and they pushed past the stream of new riders crowding in around them. Onlookers whispered questions, likely about his state, but Mikkel was oblivious to all but the metal flooring and those arms, the only things supporting him.

 

Eventually they must have made it off of the ride -- how long had it taken, an hour? A minute? Was time even real? -- because he was plopped onto a bench and offered tissues and a cup of water he couldn’t drink. All the while, Arjen spouted words of comfort. “You’re alright.” “Almost there.” “You made it, ok? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

 

Slowly the world started to come back into focus, and his breathing evened out. “Oh my god, thank you so much. Gosh. Sorry. Um.”  _ Eloquent _ , Mikkel added bitterly in his thoughts.

 

“‘S alright. I’m not a stranger to panic attacks m’self.”

 

“Aye. This is a first for me. I’m Mikkel, by the way. You said… Arjen? You’re Dutch, then?” Mikkel asked, standing from the bench and shaking the calloused hand of his savior.

 

“Yeah, I’m visiting my sister for the weekend.” The Dutchman glanced around the area, before furrowing his eyebrows. “Not sure where she is, though. She went on Vertigo with us.”

 

_ Speaking of which _ … Mikkel hadn’t seen Sigurd since before the torture began.  _ Where is that asshat?! _

 

“That’s cool. Hey, uh,” Mikkel added, “do you wanna get some ice cream? I’ll pay. As a thanks.”

 

Arjen smiled, a small grin with the warmth of the sun. “That sounds great. Do you wanna, uh, stop by a restroom first?” He motioned towards his head, and Mikkel grimaced, remembering all of the tears and snot that must have dried to his own face. 

 

“Ah. That’d be nice,” Mikkel said, diverting his eyes. “And  _ then _ ice cream.”

 

And so they went off together, and they spent the whole day together, even after they found a certain Norwegian performing cunnilingus on a pretty Belgian girl in the bushes by the bathroom. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sigurd got his ass thoroughly kicked that day, and Mikkel got both Arjen's number and the best goddamn homemade stroopwafels in the world.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave a critique! Point out my flaws plz ;.;
> 
> Also, we need more NedDen! It's such a cute pairing and I'm sad that there's not more fluff for them T-T


End file.
